Daydreamer vs The Song Fics
by daydreamer2578
Summary: Not so much a random shuffle, just songs that make stories pop into my head. And, yeah, I listen to quite a bit of country, among other genres. Two for now, more to come when a lost flash drive is recovered.
1. Chuck and Sarah vs Dierks Bentley

**What Was I Thinking? – Dierks Bentley**

_Just a bit of fun after a mission at the Rodeo. Pure fluff. Thanks to ne71 for the read through and for catching what all of those squiggly green and red lines didn't._

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"CHUCK! DRIVE!"

Chuck startled from a half-doze at his post at the steering wheel and turned to see Sarah vaulting into the bed of the old Ford step-side pickup truck they were using for the mission. Hot on her heels were five very angry-looking cowboys. As soon as her boots hit the boards, he threw the truck into gear and stomped on the gas, the tires throwing up a fantail of dust in the loose dirt of the arena's parking lot.

"Lookin' for this boys?" Sarah teased, grabbing a ridiculously oversized gold and diamond belt buckle with one hand and drawing a gun from the waistband of her oh-so-tight Wranglers with the other.

Chuck guided the truck through a sliding fishtail and glanced over his shoulder to see Cowboy Number One launching himself over the rail and into the bed of the truck. He kicked Sarah's gun out of her hand as she turned to aim at him. Sarah reciprocated with a knee to the groin and a spin-kick that sent him hurdling out of the truck into the dirt where he lay grabbing his man parts and groaning.

Cowboy Number Two made a running dive and latched onto the truck's tailgate, the toes of his boots dragging in the dust. Chuck whipped the truck from side to side until the man lost his grip, somersaulting behind a row of parked cars.

Number Three was running alongside the truck, Terminator-style. As he managed to get a leg up onto the step-side, Sarah tore off her flannel shirt, wrapped it around his head and pulled down hard, sending him spinning under the chassis. Chuck felt a jolt as the rear wheel ran over his legs.

Cowboys Four and Five were now too far behind to catch up. Number Four pulled out a twelve gauge and pulled the trigger. Sarah dove for cover as the shot peppered the truck's tailgate.

Four and Five ran for their truck. Turning his attention back to the front, Chuck found his escape route blocked by Cowboys Numbers Six and Seven in a big black Silverado. He turned the wheel hard to the right, sending Sarah crashing into the wall of the bed.

"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder.

Scanning the front of the arena, he saw Casey jogging out of the employee entrance. His face was red, his eyes puffy and teary, his nose swollen, and he was wheezing heavily. As Chuck circled and slowed down to pick him up, there was another boom of a shotgun blast and a jolt as they were rear-ended by the Silverado.

"Just drive Chuck!" Sarah yelled.

"We can't leave him behind!"

"Just go! We'll draw them away from him." Chuck threw a dubious look over his shoulder (_Leave Casey? What is she thinking? There's going to be hell to pay for this.)_ but he did as Sarah said, stomping on the gas once more. Casey had, after all come in his own truck, not wanting to spend 5 hours crammed into the cab with Chuck and Sarah.

"Dob't you dare leabe be, Bartobski!" Casey wheezed as he disappeared into the sheet of dust kicked up by the three speeding pickups. Chuck shot an apologetic look over his shoulder but kept on driving.

Sarah reached through the rear window and picked a bottle of Claritin up off of the seat. She tossed it in Casey's direction as Chuck tore out of the parking lot and onto the paved road.

"Well that wasn't very nice darlin'," Chuck drawled as Sarah climbed through the window and into the cab.

"What? I _told_ him to take it before he went into that barn," she retorted, still laying on the thick Southern accent she had adopted for the mission. "I told him not to touch his face either, but does he listen to me? No!"

"What happened?"

"He sneezed. Just as I was getting the buckle out of the safe, he sneezed and let every damn person in the place know we were there."

"Still, I don't think he's going to take too kindly to us just leaving him at the Rodeo."

"He'll get over it. Chuck! Watch out!"

The truck rocked as they were rear-ended again by the Sliverado. A matching black truck pulled out from behind and began to overtake them on the side.

"I've got the gas to the floor! They're faster than us! What do I do now?"

"Turn off the headlights!"

As Chuck fumbled with the knob, Sarah grabbed the wheel and yanked it hard to the right. The old truck flew across the ditch and into a cornfield.

"I can't see a thing!"

"That's the point. Keep going!"

Chuck held his breath as the tall rows of corn slapped against the windshield and the sides of the truck. He eased off the gas, terrified that they were going to slam headfirst into another ditch, or a house, or a barn. _Driving through a cornfield in the dark, leaving Casey behind, what the hell am I thinking?_

"Faster Chuck!"

Sarah slid into the middle seat and put her foot over his, pressing down on the accelerator. Chuck tried not to think about the feel of her leg wrapped around him, tried not to look down at that little white tank top pressed up so close against him or to be distracted by the feel of her hair whipping across his face as she turned to look behind them.

"Do you see them?"

"No. Keep going."

They flew out of the cornfield and onto a gravel road. Chuck swung the wheel hard to straighten them out and barely managed to keep the truck from tipping over as it fishtailed back and forth.

"Hide behind that barn up there."

Chuck turned into a quiet farmyard and killed the engine after they were concealed behind the barn. Both spun around to look at the road and heaved a big sigh of relief as the two Silverados passed by without seeing them. Chuck slunk down in his seat, heart racing from the adrenaline rush.

"Nice drivin' cowboy." Sarah plucked Chuck's Stetson off of his head and tossed it into the passenger seat. She grabbed a handful of his hair, pulled him down and kissed him long and hard.

"Who the hell are you kids? And what do you think you're doing here?" An angry-looking farmer was striding across the yard towards them, shotgun in hand.

"Crap!"

"Drive!"

Chuck cranked the engine and they peeled out of the farm as another shotgun blast sounded behind them and the tailgate picked up a few more dents.

"Which way?"

"Head South. We're supposed to meet our contact and pass off the chip at a bar just outside of town."

"It's in the buckle like we thought, right?"

Sarah shimmied around to detach the buckle from her belt. _Oh my God, those jeans, and that little white tank top . . .damn_. She popped a microchip out from its hiding place in the back of the buckle.

"Yeah, it's here. What is it about guys and their belt buckles anyways?"

Chuck just grinned at her and put an arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up next to him.

"You smell like horses," he teased, kissing the top of her head.

"Well, better than sausages, right?"

"I don't know. I do miss those pigtails sometimes."

Sarah ran her fingers teasingly up the hem of his jeans.

"Hey! Mind on the mission!" he shot out, voice cracking on the last syllable.

"Mmm hmm," she replied, her fingers not stopping.

"I'm trying to drive here!"

"Mmm hmm."

"No fraternizing on missions. General's orders."

"Mmm hmm."

"Aahhhh . . ."

The truck veered over towards the side of the road, its driver's attentions being suddenly directed elsewhere. Sarah was tossed away from Chuck as two wheels dropped into the ditch.

"I'm sorry Chuck," she said after Chuck brought the rig back onto the road, "was I distracting you?"

"Mmm hmm!"

She laughed and gave him a wicked, teasing look before easing herself back up under his arm again, this time keeping her hands to herself. "Turn right up here."

"So, um, Casey?" Chuck asked, primarily to fill up the awkward silence. "Who would have guessed he had hay fever, huh?"

Sarah grunted a very Casey-like grunt.

"Nice one! I think that was the number four – exasperated with a dash of frustration."

"Thanks, but I was going for the number eight – complete and utter disgust."

"Hey, he can't help it."

"He should have recused himself as soon as he found out what kind of mission this was. The two of us could have handled it."

"And miss a chance to wrastle with the cowfolk? I doubt that. Still, I can't believe we just left him there. You think we should go back to get him?"

"Nah. He's probably halfway home by now. Besides, I like it better with just the two of us." Her fingers started tracing the inseam of his jeans again. Chuck bit his lip and desperately tried to keep his concentration on the road.

Twenty tension-filled minutes later they pulled up at a bar that could only properly be described as a honkey tonk. The parking lot was full of trucks and the crowd milling around had obviously come straight from the rodeo. Country music blared out the open front doors and they could see a live band at the far end of a large dance floor. Chuck and Sarah pushed through the crowd to the bar and Chuck ordered them a couple of beers. They leaned against the bar and scanned the crowd as they drank.

"You see him?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know. What does he look like?"

"Don't know. You're supposed to flash on him."

"Nothing so far."

Sarah checked her watch. "Well, we are early. Guess we need to go blend in."

Chuck looked down at his Western duds and the beer in his hand, "I thought we were blending in."

"Nope. You, Agent Carmichael, need to dance with me."

"Ah . . . I . . . "

"What?"

"Well, I don't know how to . . . country dance."

"It's called two-stepping, goofball. It's not hard, I'll show you."

"That doesn't mean I have to dance the girl's part again does it?"

"Nah. I'll just back-lead until you catch on. Come on!" She took the beer out of his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Chuck sighed and let himself be dragged; she obviously wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Put your right hand on my waist. Now pull me in closer . . . closer. Good. Now just count – one-and-two-and-three-four. Got it?"

Chuck swallowed. _God, that tank top . . ._ _so tight . . . so close . . .heads up soldier. Look at her face, not her . . ._ "Er, got it."

And she pulled him forward. _Ok . . . left, together, left, together, slide right, together, left, together, left, together . . . hey! This isn't so hard!_ Chuck was feeling pretty good about his two-stepping skills until they reached the end of the floor and Sarah led him into a turn. His feet tangled up hopelessly and the spin ended with the heel of his boot coming down hard on Sarah's toes.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Chuck mumbled.

"That's ok, you'll get the next one."

Three more turns and he had it. Chuck took over the lead, marveling at the way she effortlessly followed, how pliable she was, moving like she was an extension of him. His hand slipped lower onto the seat of her jeans, hers moved to the back of his neck, idly playing with his hair in the way she knew drove him wild. He laid his cheek against the side of her face, breathing in the scent of her hair. _Ok, so maybe horses are better than sausage._ This was obviously more than just cover dancing. Chuck thought about the long kiss in the barnyard and wondered where the rest of the night might lead once they had passed off the microchip.

As he raised his eyes to negotiate the next turn, he noticed a man at the edge of the crowd around the dance floor. He hardly needed to flash – the man's cheap gray suit and his stiff demeanor gave him away as an agent right off – but flash he did. As his eyes were rolled back in his head, he stumbled, accidently pushing Sarah into the mountain of a man standing behind her.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, jackass!"

"Sorry, sorry," Chuck mumbled. This guy was seriously big. The sleeves of his T-shirt were cut off to reveal bulging, rock-hard biceps and a tattoo of a skull with the words "Born To Kill" stenciled over the top. The man glared at Chuck, but then his expression changed when he noticed Sarah.

"Well, hello darlin'," he said, stepping in close to hover over her. "Don't you think you should be dancing with a _real_ man?" He put his hand on Chuck's chest and roughly pushed him away. "I'm cutting in." He grabbed the stunned Sarah and pulled her in, fondling her ass roughly with his giant mitt.

At the sight of the thug's hand clamping down on Sarah's rear end, Chuck saw red. Before he could form a coherent thought, he reeled back his fist and punched the brute square in the jaw. A tooth went flying out onto the dance floor. _Holy crap! I can't believe I just did that! What was I thinking?_

With a roar, the guy started after him.

"Gotta go!" Chuck yelled, taking Sarah's hand and running across the dance floor. As he passed the agent in the gray suit, he took the microchip out of his pocket and tossed it towards him. "Here ya' go buddy!" The agent caught the chip and stared after the two of them, nonplussed. Chuck supposed that this was hardly standard CIA protocol.

Chuck and Sarah (who was apparently finding the situation hilarious) ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Chuck dove towards the truck, sliding across the hood _a la_ Bo Duke. Sarah climbed into the cab, tears running down her face she was laughing so hard.

"That was awesome Chuck!" she said as he peeled out of the parking lot.

"Well, I couldn't just let him grab you like that."

"My hero!" she teased, sliding back into her familiar position next to him.

"Anything for you, darlin'."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Despite the fact that Chuck was driving, Sarah pulled his face down into another kiss. Chuck turned and looked at the road just in time to swerve out of the way of an oncoming car. Sarah laughed again as she was tossed over into the passenger seat.

"God, I haven't had this much fun since high school," she said, pulling off her boots and wiggling her toes. She turned on the radio and tuned into a country station, blasting the music into the cab.

"Oh really?" Chuck asked, trying to remember how to breathe. "And what else would you do in high school?"

"Pull off on the next dirt road and I'll show you." She smiled that wicked smile again. Chuck gulped and started looking for a turnoff.

Six hours later, Chuck cruised down the Echo Park street leading to his apartment, only to find the entrance to the parking lot blocked by a Ford F350 attached to a horse trailer. Sitting on a lawn chair in front of the truck was Casey; his face still swollen, a shotgun across his lap. As Chuck pulled up and put the truck in park, Casey stood and strode towards them, pumping the gun menacingly.

"Bartowski, you're going to pay for leaving me back there!"

Chuck turned to face Sarah, eyes wide.

And she gave a come-and-get-me grin.

And like a bullet they were gone again . . .

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_Lyrics:_

_Becky was a beauty from South Alabama,_

_Her Daddy had a heart like a nine-pound hammer,_

_Think He even did a little time in the slammer._

_What was I thinking?_

_She snuck out one night and met me by the front gate,_

_Her daddy came out waving that twelve gauge,_

_We tore out the drive, he peppered my tailgate._

_What was I thinking?_

_Oh I knew there'd be Hell to pay,_

_But that crossed my mind a little too late!_

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_(Chorus)_

_Cuz' I was thinking 'bout a little white tank top sitting right there in the middle by me._

_I was thinking about a long kiss, man just gotta get goin' where the night might lead._

_Well I know what I was feeling,_

_But What was I thinking?_

_But What was I thinking?_

_What was I thinking?_

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_By the county line the cops were nipping on our heels,_

_Pulled off the road kicked it to 4 wheel,_

_Shut off the lights, tore through a cornfield._

_What was I thinking?_

_Out the other side she was hollerin' "Faster!"_

_Took the third road had the radio blastin'_

_Hit the Honky Tonk for a little close dancin' _

_What was I thinking?_

_Oh I knew there'd be Hell to pay,_

_But that crossed my mind a little too late!_

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_(Chorus)_

_._

_What was I thinking?_

_When a mountain of a man with a "Born to Kill" tattoo _

_Tried to cut in I knocked out his front tooth._

_Ran outside hood sliding like Bo Duke_

_What was I thinking?_

_I finally got her home at half past too late,_

_Her daddy's in a lawn chair sittin' in the driveway,_

_Put it in park as he started my way,_

_What was I thinking?_

_Oh what was I thinking?_

_Oh what was I thinking?_

_And she gave a come and get me grin, _

_And like a bullet we were gone again!_

_(Chorus)_


	2. Casey vs The Zac Brown Band

**Chicken Fried – Zac Brown Band**

_Casey visits home between assignments. I don't know why I think Casey is Southern, but I do, so I'm going with it. It may be OOC, but I hope you enjoy it anyways._

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**Outside Conyers, GA**

**September 11, 2007**

John Casey steered his government issue Suburban down a winding gravel road leading through an old peach orchard. At the sight of a rambling farmhouse sitting in the shade of a big Georgia Pine, he found an unaccustomed smile spreading across his face. The old house wasn't much to talk about, but it was home. Stretched across the porch was an enormous yellow ribbon and a banner reading "Welcome Home J.B.!"

As he got out of the SUV and picked up his bag, he was immediately tackled by a six-year-old bundle of energy.

"Uncle J.B.! Uncle J.B! Look what I learned!" Before Casey could even kneel down to give his nephew a hug, he found himself doubled over from an impressive roundhouse kick to the stomach.

"Ooof!" he wheezed, "not bad, Johnny. Not bad."

"I'm testing for my purple belt tomorrow!"

"Well, looks like you're sure to get it. Now tell me how you get out of this!" Casey scooped his namesake up into a ferocious bear hug, and then slung him over his shoulder, tickling, as the boy giggled and tried to squirm his way free. "Where's your mom at?"

"I'm right here."

He looked up to see his sister standing in the front door. "Laura Beth," he said, dropping his bag and jogging up the porch steps, "it's damned good to see you again."

"You too, you big lug. We've missed you." Her blue eyes, the mirror image of his own, were gleaming as she drew Casey and her still-wriggling son into a warm hug. "Why don't you go practice in the yard, Johnny?" she directed, plucking him off of Casey's shoulder and setting him down. "Go show your uncle what else you can do." The little boy scurried away to start punching and kicking at an imaginary foe in the grass. "I swear, J.B., he looks more and more like you every day."

She handed Casey a cold beer. "So did you get him?" she asked, leaning against the railing and twisting the cap off of her own.

"No," he answered, taking a long drink. "Every time we got a line on his location, they had moved. Dialysis machine and all. Personally, I think he's in New York."

"You're not the only one. We'll get him eventually."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Despite the failure of his two-year mission in Afghanistan, Casey found himself unable to hold the customary scowl on his face. There was something about being on this front porch, drinking a beer and watching his nephew play in the same yard he had played in as a child that made everything seem right with the world. This was what made it all worth it.

"Sure missed you out there with us," he told her.

She looked out at the sight of her son rolling around in the grass. "Well, I've got more important things to fight for now."

"How's Dave doing?"

"Fine, I guess. He's undercover in Iraq so we don't hear from him often – just the occasional email. But he sounds ok. He should be home in a couple of months, hopefully."

Casey noticed her crossing her fingers as she tapped them against her bottle, but didn't say anything. There wasn't much you could say to a woman whose husband was half a world away on a black ops mission, and L.B. wasn't the type to be comforted by empty platitudes. She knew only too well what those types of missions entailed.

They stood for a few minutes in comfortable silence, watching Johnny play in the yard and listening to the sounds of cicadas and june bugs buzzing in the grass. As they leaned against the rail and sipped their beers, the Southern sun expanded into an enormous, wavery red ball and dipped down towards the horizon, turning the sparse, high clouds vivid shades of pink and orange. A shimmery, sunset haze hung over the rows of peach trees stretching out into the distance. From the open kitchen window, they could hear strains of music from the oldies station and the sounds of Casey's mother puttering and humming inside.

There was the sound of an oven door opening and closing, and one of the most delicious smells Casey had ever known came wafting out onto the porch. "Is that--?"

"Mama's homemade pecan pie. She's making it special just for you. She's got all of your favorites coming up tonight, and plenty of sweet tea to go with it."

Casey grinned, and his stomach growled appreciatively. He hadn't eaten all day in anticipation of his homecoming dinner.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"Pretty good . . . most of the time. You'll see. You should change out of your fatigues before you see her though. Seeing you in uniform might confuse her."

Casey nodded and picked up his bag.

"Your clothes are still up in your old room. She still leaves it just the way you left it."

Casey gave L.B. one more hug, then climbed the stairs to his old boyhood room. Looking around at the Regan campaign posters, sports trophies and the neatly-made twin bed, he felt like he was sixteen again. From the closet he pulled down his favorite pair of jeans, an old Atlanta Braves T-shirt, worn thin from years of wear, and a pair of old white sneakers stained red by the Georgia clay. His time in Afghanistan had kept him in shape and the jeans still fit like they were made just for him. He whistled happily under his breath as he transferred the few items from his duffle bag into the dresser drawers.

Once unpacked, he snuck down the back stairs into the kitchen and positioned himself quietly behind his mother who was at the stove, getting ready to fry up a mess of chicken. When she turned around to see him standing there, she jumped in surprise.

"Johnny! You're going to give your old mother a heart attack!"

"Hi Mama. I missed you," Casey grinned, giving her a warm hug.

"It's so good to see you again!" She reached up to pat him on the side of his face. "You look just like your father, you know that?"

"So you keep saying."

"He's coming home this weekend, you know."

The smile quickly slipped from Casey's face and he looked at his mother with sadness and confusion in his eyes. "But Dad's –"

He was cut short by the sound of L.B. clearing her throat. He looked over to see her leaning in the kitchen doorway, shaking her head pointedly.

"What about your dad, Johnny?"

Casey pulled his mom in for another hug and rested his chin on her head. "Nothing, Mama. Nothing. I just thought we weren't going to see him for a while, that's all."

Casey squeezed his mom tight for a long time and L.B. came over to put her arms around them both. From the hallway came a yell of "group hug!" and Johnny made a running jump into the middle of the family pile, causing laughter all around.

On the radio, Elvis's version of _Hound Dog_ started to play.

"Oh, turn that up!" Francis Casey said, "I love that song!"

L.B. cranked the dial on the radio, and Fancis grabbed her son's hands. "You're not too old to still cut a rug with your mother yet, are you?"

"Of course not."

Casey grabbed her hand, put an arm around her waist and sent her spinning and laughing across the kitchen.

"Me too! Me too!" Johnny yelled, holding up his hands. L.B. took them and sent him whirling after his grandmother.

And while the song played, the family danced. Casey and his mom jitterbugging like she and his father used to, while Johnny strutted around the room swinging his hips and sending them all into peals of laughter with his imitations of Elvis' facial expressions. The kid was turning into quite the little actor.

The end of the song found all four of them leaning against the counter, smiling and out of breath. "I just love that Elvis boy," Francis Casey avowed. "You know he's playing in Savannah next Sunday. Your daddy and I are going to go see him after he gets back."

Casey raised his eyebrows in L.B.'s direction, but she just shook her head again. _Just go with it_, she mouthed.

Casey forced a smile to his face and a measure of cheer into his voice, "sounds like fun."

"Oh, I just can't wait. I'm going to wear my red dress and my organza hat, and we're going to stay at that adorable little bed and breakfast by the river where we spent our honeymoon." Her gaze turned inwards and she sighed a happy little sigh. But after a moment, she snapped back, as if suddenly recognizing the presence of her grown children in the kitchen.

"But what am I standing here nattering on about? I'm supposed to be making dinner and the oil's not even hot yet. If y'all want to eat at a decent hour tonight, then clear out of my kitchen!"

"Do you need any help with anything?" Casey asked, moving to the sink to wash his hands.

"Son, you know the day I let a man – particularly _you_ – near my stove while I'm cooking is the day men will walk on the moon. Now out! And turn that radio up when you go by." Francis plucked an old and well-worn wooden spoon from a canister by the stove and popped it against her hand making a loud smacking sound.

Casey clapped his hands to his backside and took a large step backwards away from the stove. "Yes ma'am!" He twisted the volume knob on the radio, L.B. grabbed two fresh beers out of the fridge, and they scurried out of the kitchen, laughing.

Johnny made use of his grandmother's temporary distraction to sneak over to the pie cooling on the counter and start picking pecans off of the top while her back was turned.

"God, I didn't think I'd see that spoon again so quickly," Casey laughed as he walked out onto the porch.

"Oh, and she still won't hesitate to use it if you're messing around in her kitchen either," L.B. assured him.

From the kitchen came a loud cry of "BOY! Get your grubby hands out of that pie!" followed by a sharp crack and a surprised yelp.

"I hate that spoon," Johnny grumbled as he walked out, rubbing the seat of his pants.

Casey and L.B. burst into fresh laughter.

"Dang, how many times did I see you walking out the door with that exact same look on your face?" L.B teased.

"More than a few, I can guarantee you that." Casey looked knowingly at his nephew, who, after a few seconds, gave up his sullen pout and joined in with the grown-up's laughter.

"Did you get in a lot of trouble when you were a kid, uncle J.B.?" he asked.

Casey answered with an amused grunt and a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, the stories I could tell you," L.B. began, but she was interrupted by an elbow to the ribs and a mock death glare from her brother. Johnny looked at the two of them expectantly.

"How 'bout we take a walk instead?" Casey suggested.

"Awww! You never tell me anthying!"

L.B. leaned down to him, "I'll tell you all about your uncle later," she said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, wrinkling the brow of her nose and grinning at him. Then, in a normal voice, "but the fireflies are starting to wake up. Why don't you go grab a jar and see if you can't catch a few?"

Johnny gave one more last hopeful glance at Casey, but as his uncle was feigning deafness, whistling softly and looking off across the yard, he gave up, shrugged his shoulders and ran inside to get a jar.

"If you tell him about the black powder in the barn, I'm telling him all about you and your joyride on the tractor," Casey threatened in a low voice.

L.B. laughed gave him a punch to the bicep as she walked down the steps. "That poor barn. I don't know how it's still standing after all we did to try and demolish it. But, no, I think it's better we don't put any more ideas in his head. He gets into more than enough trouble on his own – just like someone else I used to know."

"Well I was rarely alone in my actions, if you care to remember."

"Who? Me?" she asked, innocently, batting her eyelashes at him.

The sun had just slipped below the horizon, turning the sky to shades of blue and lavender with a band of crimson just above the western horizon. From the banks of the creek behind the house, the tree frogs began their nightly conversation and the crickets added their voices to those of the june bugs and cicadas. And from the grass, the first lazy green lights began to appear as the fireflies rose and stretched out their wings. The temperature dropped a few degrees and the slightest of breezes began to stir the damp air, carrying just a hint of coolness, the trace of a promise that summer was over and fall was on its way.

Casey and L.B. strolled across the yard and into the orchard while Johnny scampered ahead, trying to sneak up on the unsuspecting fireflies and scoop them up into his jar.

"Is it always like that?" Casey asked, turning serious.

"Pretty much. Daddy coming home on Saturday and Elvis in Savannah on Sunday."

"What happens on the weekend?"

"Well, I'm just glad you got here on a Friday. If you had come tomorrow she most likely would have spent all day thinking you were him. Every Saturday, she cooks a big dinner and lays out her red dress for the concert. She goes to bed figuring that he must have missed his flight, and when she wakes up Sunday morning and he's not there, she just puts the dress away and goes right back to normal until the next weekend."

"And that's it?"

"Yep. Just Dad and Elvis. Other than that, she's sharp as a tack and is still the reigning queen of this particular piece of Georgia. And it seems to make her happy, so I let it go. It's gotta be better than upsetting her every week. Right?"

Casey sighed, "yeah, I suppose so. As long as she's happy." He reached up, plucked one of the year's last peaches from an overhead branch and took a meditative bite, wiping the juice from his chin with the back of his hand and shaking his head sadly.

"It happens to every person eventually I guess."

"Most people. Not people like us though. We don't tend to stick around that long."

"Some do. If they can manage to steer clear of it all."

L.B. grunted sarcastically. "Please, you think that could ever happen in this family? There is no such thing as being clear of it all. Johnny! Put that snake down!"

"It's ok! It's just a corn snake!" Johnny called back. He ran up to show off his newest capture, which was hanging resignedly in the boy's fist.

"You sure it's a corn snake?" Casey asked him.

"Of course!"

"He's sure." L.B. averred. "You don't think I'd let him run around out here without teaching him about snakes first do you?"

Casey grunted his approval. "Just checking." He took the wriggling black and red snake Johnny was holding to him and watched as it started to explore his hand and climb up his arm. "That's a nice one. But what do you do if you do get bit?" he asked, starting to walk again.

Johnny rolled his eyes and recited, "use a turney kit to stop the poison from spreading."

Casey smiled and suppressed a chuckle. "Right. And what do use to make a tourniquet?"

"Belt, rope, vines, clothes, wires, stuff like that. Then you gotta cut it open." He wrinkled his nose at the idea.

"You got a knife?"

"I always have a knife."

Casey nodded seriously. "Good policy."

Johnny nodded back equally as seriously, then after a beat, looked up at his mom hopefully. "Can I keep it?"

"What do you think?"

He sighed, "I'll go put him back in the grass." He took the snake off of Casey's arm and ran off for the end of the row of trees.

Casey and L.B. circled around the perimeter of the property while Johnny ranged out in front of them, practicing his karate moves against the underbrush and running back every now and then to show them a frog or a bug he had found. They crossed the creek on a fallen log, and came at length to the family cemetery – a full acre, enclosed by an aging wrought iron fence overgrown with wisteria and honeysuckle. The entrance arch was flanked by two white oleander trees. The three walked quietly through the rows of Casey ancestors, brushing the fallen leaves and pine needles off of gravestones dating as far back as to the end of the Revolutionary War. At the end of the most recent row, they stopped walking at the grave of General Jonathan Bertram Casey III, January 5, 1933 – September 11, 2001, "He Served His Country With Honor. Never Forget."

Casey drew himself up straight and tipped his beer towards the headstone in a salute. "I miss you Dad."

"Me too," L.B. echoed, kissing her fingertips and placing them lovingly on the grave marker.

"Is that grandpa?" Johnny asked.

"It sure is." L.B. put a hand on his shoulder.

He screwed up his face and thought for a minute, "I don't remember him."

"Well, you wouldn't. But he was there to hold you the day you were born."

"But then he was in the Pentagon, the day those planes crashed, right?"

"Right. You were still just a baby."

Casey put his hand on the boy's other shoulder. "Just remember that he was a hero. A lot of people lived that day because he died trying to saving them."

"Is that why it says 'Never Forget' when the rest of them just say 'He Served with Honor'?"

"That's right. You may not remember him, but you can always remember what he did for all of us."

"And you're going to get them, right uncle J.B.? You and Daddy? You're going to find the men that killed all of those people?"

"We do what we can. That's all any of us can ever do."

The three stood in silent respect until, from across the creek came a familiar call. "Kids! Dinner!"

"First one there gets the drumsticks!" Johnny yelled, running for the entrance to the cemetery.

"I swear, I don't know where he gets the energy," L.B. sighed before taking off after him. "Last one does the dishes!" She called back over her shoulder.

Casey smiled after them, but lingered a few more seconds before turning and walking behind them. He didn't mind doing the dishes. As he passed by the oleander trees again, his phone rang.

"Casey . . . Evening General . . . Yes, they're all doing well, thank you . . . I'll tell her you said so . . ." Casey suddenly froze, midstride. "The Intersect?" He set his jaw and clenched his fists, his eyes icing over.

"Larkin," he growled from low in his throat. "Yes General, I understand."

Casey flipped his phone closed, grinding in his fist until he felt the plastic crack. He strode through the woods towards the house with fierce determination, muttering explosively under his breath.

As he came out at the edge of the yard, L.B. spotted him and quickly dropped the pile of plates she was carrying onto the picnic table and moved to head him off.

"Oh no you don't!"

"Oh no I don't what?" He snapped.

"I know that walk and I know that look on your face, _Major Casey_. All you need now is the cheap blue suit and your sidearm." Casey's hand moved reflexively to the small of his back. "Ok, just the suit then. Should've known. But whatever just happened, it is _not_ welcome at the dinner table with my son, you understand?"

Casey forced himself to stand down and breathe. "Sorry."

L.B. nodded. "That's better. What happened?"

Casey lowered his voice to a rumble. "Larkin went rogue. They think he's going after the Intersect."

L.B. gasped, her eyes flying open in surprise. "Larkin? . . . But . . . how?" She sighed and shook her head. "Nevermind, I don't want to know. When do you leave?"

"First flight is in . . ." Casey checked his watch, "two and a half hours."

She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a hug. "I was hoping we'd at least get to keep you for the weekend."

"Me too," he sighed, patting her on the back.

"Well, you have just enough time for your welcome home dinner before you have to leave again. While it's a terrible abuse of our hospitality to eat and run, at least it's something."

"It's the life."

She let go of him and lowered herself back down, looking at him sadly, causing Casey's anger to temporarily melt away. He wished that he could stay still, stay at home for a while. But she was right, there was no way of steering clear of it all for people like them. After a few moments, they both pasted smiles onto their faces and turned back towards the picnic table.

As he sat down, he tousled Johnny's hair affectionately. "It smells like heaven, Mom," he said as she dished him up a heaping plate of fried chicken, collards, okra, canned peaches, baked beans, potato salad and cornbread slathered with homemade butter. His stomach let out an audible growl as she set the food down in front of him.

"Uncle J.B. has to do the dishes!" Johnny announced happily.

"Actually, Uncle J.B. has to go back to work after dinner." L.B. told him.

Francis' face fell. "So soon? And you just got here too."

"I'm sorry, but you know how it is."

"Is it too much to ask for just one day?"

"Apparently so." He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "I've really missed you, Mama. I'll try to get back soon. This shouldn't take too long."

"I thought we were going fishing!" Johnny protested.

"Maybe next time, kiddo. I'll even teach you how to catch a catfish with your bare hands."

"Promise?"

"Never make a promise when you don't know what tomorrow might hold. But I promise to try my best to come home soon."

He pouted for a little bit, then stood up on the bench to throw his arms around Casey's neck. "Well I hope you get the bad guy then," he whispered.

"Oh you better believe I will."

Casey's mother's face took on her resigned look, then she, too put on a smile. "Well if we can't keep you, we can at least make sure you leave here well fed." She looked around the table as if she couldn't imagine what everybody looked so upset about. "What in the world is everybody waiting for? Dig in!"

Casey picked up the drumstick that Johnny had slipped onto his plate with a wink and a nudge. As he took the first bite, everybody watched for his reaction, and he rolled his eyes and groaned with pleasure, all the troubles of the world momentarily forgotten. As he settled in for his one dinner with his family.

Damn . . . his Mama made the best fried chicken.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, everyone. This one was hastily written, but I wanted to get it out before the end of the day. __Thanks again to ne71 for the rapid read through. You are a blessing to my ego!_

_I hope we all took some time today to remember. Me, I was getting ready for work when I saw my mom's car pull into the driveway, which was strange. Even though she drove past every morning, she never stopped by unannounced (that would be rude, you know). When I opened the door, she was pale and shaking._

"_Turn on the TV," was all she said._

_I grabbed the remote. "Which channel?"_

"_Any channel." _

_My stomach sank. This couldn't be good._

_We turned on the TV just in time to see the first tower fall . . ._

_I'm not usually the type to ask anything of my audience (well, besides reviews, that is), but if you have any friends or loved ones out there fighting, please take the time to send them an email, a text, a call, a prayer, or just send a warm and fuzzy thought out in their direction to let them know that they are loved and appreciated and that we thank them for what they do for us every day, so far from home._

_To quote Wep, "Y'all are awesome. Peace."_

_

* * *

  
_

_Lyrics:_

_You know I like my chicken fried_

_Cold beer on a Friday night_

_A pair of jeans that fit just right_

_And the radio up_

_Well I was raised up beneath the shade of a Georgia pine_

_And that's home you know_

_With sweet tea pecan pie and homemade wine_

_Where the peaches grow_

_And my house it's not much to talk about_

_But it's filled with love that's grown in southern ground_

_And a little bit of chicken fried_

_Cold beer on a Friday night_

_A pair of jeans that fit just right_

_And the radio up_

_Well I've seen the sunrise_

_Seen the love in my woman's eyes_

_Feel the touch of a precious child_

_And know a mother's love_

_And its funny how it's the little things in life that mean the most_

_Not where you live, what you drive or the price tag on your clothes_

_There's no dollar sign on a piece of mind this I've come to know_

_So if you agree have a drink with me_

_Raise you glasses for a toast_

_To a little bit of chicken fried_

_Cold beer on a Friday night_

_A pair of jeans that fit just right_

_And the radio up_

_Well I've seen the sunrise_

_See the love in my woman's eyes_

_Feel the touch of a precious child_

_And know a mother's love_

_I thank God for my life_

_For the stars and stripes_

_May freedom forever fly, let it ring._

_Salute the ones who died_

_And the ones that gave their lives_

_So we don't have to sacrifice_

_All the things we love_

_Like our chicken fried_

_Cold beer on a Friday night_

_A pair of jeans that fit just right_

_And the radio up_

_Well I've seen the sunrise_

_See the love in my woman's eyes_

_Feel the touch of a precious child_

_And know a mother's love_

_You know I like chicken fried_

_Cold beer on a Friday night_

_A pair of jeans that fit just right_

_And the radio up_

_Well I've seen the sunrise_

_See the love in my woman's eyes_

_Feel the touch of a precious child_

_And know a mother's love _


End file.
